It is interesting when one reflects on an impatient time in
life and realizes that a person should know that the impending life-changing
event will, “be here before you know it.” Boy oh boy, that is true.
I’m sitting on my bed periodically staring at one of the
most amazing creations that I am so lucky to have in my life. His name is Malcolm Neil Hicken and he
was born on July 17th, 2013 at a whopping 8 pounds 5 ounces, 22
inches long (I’m not sure how the length happened as Mom and Dad are not the
tallest people in the world). My
sister-in-law told me, “make sure you write down what you remember of the labor
before you forget.” Well, here is my somewhat blurred memory, as with new
parenthood, time to sit and write is not the most important priority in my life
anymore. (My head turns as Malcolm makes an adorable baby noise that I know
will come and go way too fast, as he already has grown so much in the past 2
and a half weeks):
I woke up (over due by a week), thinking, “I just wish the
‘real’ contractions would start already.” And just like that, a pain that I
couldn’t imagine existing entered my world (and those were the mild
spread-apart contractions). As a
pregnant woman, Google becomes one’s "best friend" and "worst enemy" all at the same
time. Hence, Googling, “what do contractions feel like?” The range of answers
is somewhat comedic, but in reality, there is no true way to describe
them. And honestly, the end result
magically makes you forget what they really felt like.
As Neil and I were trying to keep busy in the biggest
anticipation of our lives(being overdue), we decided to get our Jetta wagon
serviced and walk around Ontario Mills while we waited. And bam, hello “real” contractions!!!
Mind you, before this, Neil and I had 2 false alarms in which we did the walk
of shame back to our car with no baby at 3 in the morning leaving the hospital.
Hence, our reservations in thinking, that it was really time for our lives to
change forever. During the “first
one” (horrible contraction), I remember the words of an adorable Filipino
nurse, Christine saying, “you will know when they are real, it will hurt!” She
was right (almost), I kept questioning my inability to move, talk, or walk when
they would happen (or if my tolerance for pain was much lower than I thought). Hours later we were back at home and I
was screaming Neil’s name every 5 to 7 minutes and around 11:00 p.m. I decided,
“I couldn’t take it anymore” and I kept saying that phrase as well. Reflectively, I think that the nurses
could tell the first 2 visits to labor and delivery were false alarms, due to
the fact that I “walked” in the building.
This time, a wheel chair was necessary in addition to messy hair and
tears coming out of my eyes, with the occasional combination of words that I
will respectively leave out of this memory. Suddenly, we heard the magic words from yet another adorable
employee of Kaiser, “Well you are having some impressive contractions, we’re
going to go ahead and admit you.” Wahoo!!! We are going to have our baby.
As quick as I could breath, I quickly said, “I want my
epidural.” And within 10 minutes an angel from Heaven, aka the
anesthesiologist, was in the room.
And I kept thinking and saying, “whoever invented the epidural deserves
at least a billion dollars.” Although, I might take a little bit of that money
back as I describe the last parts of labor. During the majority of labor, I was
able to relax and think of how excited I was to meet my baby boy. During the majority of the evening,
Neil, my Mom, my Dad and I just hung out, eagerly waiting for updates from
the midwife. Excitied, as I was
dialating, and not in “pain” anymore.
Then, around 3 in the morning, I was woken up with about 9 new people in
my room, and they weren’t visitors.
Shaking and scared, I heard the words that no new mom wants to hear,
“Let’s prep her for an emergency c-section.” During my sleep, Malcolm’s heart
rate became irratic and my heart began to break. Then, the doctor turned me on my side, and suddenly his
heart rate was fine. But in the back of my mind, I now knew that I would worry
until he was safe out of my belly and in my arms. Finally, I stopped
shaking, but would not stop staring at his heart monitor. Fast forward 15 hours and it was “time”,
for pushing that is.
Remember when I said, that I would take some of that money
back from the inventor of the epidural, well the reasoning behind that is
because if you don’t “push right”, they take away the epidural(insert sad
face). Now this part is truly a blur, but let’s just say that within the 3
hours of pushing, the looks on the horrified, tear-filled faces of Neil, my Mom
and Dad do stand clear as day in my memory. Neil described my state during that 3 hour "moment" as a, "puppy
in a bear trap" and he would rather go through “that” than watch it. Push, push, push!!!! Keep going!!! Good
job, Christine!!! But, he wasn’t coming out. In comes a different doctor, Dr. Park, “ok, Christine, I’m
going to give you 2 more pushes and then we will do the c-section.” Push, push,
time for a c-section.
I’m pretty sure that the room was the same room that I had
my tumor removed in last summer, but the feeling was much different this time
and I was awake. Before Neil could
say much, I heard the most beautiful sound (tears are now coming to my eyes as
I type). My baby’s cry, what a sound, there is nothing like this moment, it is
truly indescribable and the most amazing moment any person can experience. (Malcolm just sniffled) Although, I
couldn’t hold him, I knew he was mine, the love of my life, my reason for
living, worth all the waiting and effort.
He is perfect in all aspects, and he’s pretty cute too. Then, the pediatric team had to take
him to the NICU, and immediately, the words came out, “Neil follow him!! I’ll
be ok." Now, I thought I loved Kaiser
last summer when they took impeccable care of me during my surgery, but they
really upped their game this time around.
During a c-section, a mom must have adrenaline pumping through her body,
but after in the recovery room it is somewhat blurry, until you hear the words,
“Baby and Daddy will be hear in 5 minutes” and snap, you are alert and the
drugs seem to wear off. I am
melting in love, he is in my arms, skin-to-skin, he knows me, and stops
crying immediately. I want to hold
on to this moment forever. I stare at him, then Neil and I lock eyes knowing that we are both madly in love with this baby boy. We are on cloud 9, after
about 30 minutes we are wheeled to our room and greeted by so much love
from our families.
The next 2 days in the hospital were a whirl wind of
visitors, beautiful flowers and new parenting lessons from nurses and lactation
consultants.
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